Again, this did not go anywhere near expected. It sort of swerved off, midway into a meditation on the nature of shadows, into minefield territory.
I'm almost afraid to touch it, it scared me too.
I'm almost afraid to touch it, it scared me too.
SHADOW PLAYS
the upraised
fists of his fury
loom
larger in shadow
against
the sickly-pale wall
he is
not large but drunken fumes
play tricks
with the mind
anyone
can be large
when
there is someone smaller to tame
hands
over her head she diminishes
to
nothing in the menace of his rage
her
shadow shrinks into itself
this is
strange love that tastes of bruises blood and tears
his
whiskey-sour breath harsh as the poem of violence
he hammers
onto her skin into her bones
things shift
things
crack
her
smallness falls into him
cavernous
black his huge shadow
swallows
her whole
not even
her shadow remains
5 comments:
Good use of the prompt. The 'largeness' of the abuser becomes self-perpetuating, just as the cringing abused shrinks. Powerful.
Jane is right. Powerful, from many angles.
This poem makes you cringe from the imagery. You painted a very real picture here. Great use of the prompt.
Jane and Kerfe: Thank you so much. This wasn't what I originally set out to write, but it took a turn and went right into the ugly heart of abuse, and the violence that disguises itself as narcicissm twisted to look like love. I was privileged to spend time last year with a wonderful group of women writers who had all, at some point in their lives, been abused physically or emotionally. In a way, this is all their stories, my own included.
Realmommaramblings: It made me cringe too, in the writing, it really did. It felt wrong to put it down, but then I've been learning that sometimes, it's *necessary*. Thank you!
Very nice ppost
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